Like stray, wayward birds,
we find it difficult to
discover blissful,
unsullied sanctuary.
O we are riddled
with burning questions that blaze
throughout fraught lifetimes!
Easy answers are not for us.
We lament Love's lack
of worth in these trembling days.
All things have a price
in a disposable age.
Yet between I and
Thou, lies Buber's sacred space.
So we often come
together in the rhythms
of mutual wings:
which are always open to
wider worlds. We share
disdain for parochial
ways and means. Henceforth.
we fly to new horizons,
as soul mates reborn,
when faithful winds blow our way.
We glide through winter
and seek first stirrings of spring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem